Nicola Barker - Behindlings

‘What’re you doing?’ Katherine exhaled smoke at him.

‘You stink of violets,’ Wesley said.

‘Pardon?’

‘You smell of violets.’

‘Pardon?’

‘According to Freud, violets have strong psychological implications.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Violence.’

‘Huh?’

‘Violets… Violence. You have an aggressive scent.’

‘ Grrrrrrrrrr. ’ Katherine snarled at him.

Wesley smiled. ‘ Katherine Turpin suddenly found herself possessed… ’ he told her softly, folding all the more deftly, pulling corners, inverting points, twisting, doubling back, ‘ by the uncontrollable spirit, ’ he finished with a flourish and held what he’d made out to her, ‘ of a bear. ’

Katherine peered at it.

‘Just like Jim Morrison,’ she said.

‘I believe it was a Native American in that instance.’

‘You are so clever,’ she said, and took the object from him, ‘although it’s a shitty little squirrel, in actual fact.’

‘Squirrels can be very aggressive,’ Wesley demurred, ‘and they have a profound spiritual aspect.’

‘Can I have a look?’ Ted asked.

Wesley snatched the squirrel from Katherine and passed it over. Ted smiled at it.

‘How’d you learn to do that?’ Katherine asked.

‘Therapy for my hand. I had a specialist who recommended origami to improve coordination. This was during the short phase when I convinced myself that I wanted to be better. Now I understand that the concept of “better” is just an evil myth put about by fascist medical practitioners.’

While he was speaking, Wesley was folding. This time the object was easier to assemble.

‘Guess,’ he said, holding it up to Ted.

Ted frowned.

‘Your parents named you after this man.’

‘Ted fucking Heath, ’ Katherine spluttered. ‘Correct.’

He handed the plain origami head to her.

‘I must learn how to do that,’ she mused, ‘do you play mah’jong by any chance?’

‘I have a book in my rucksack by Robert Harbin,’ he said, ignoring her question. ‘He’s the best we British have: a serious folder, but with a great sense of humour. The Japs and the Yanks are rather more po-faced about it.’

Wesley unfolded Ted Heath and refolded. Katherine watched on, fascinated.

‘Ashtray,’ he said, pushing it across the tiles at her and springing to his feet, ‘dinner will be in about an hour. Take that wing off. It’s cutting into your neck. We’re going to the pub.’

‘Bar.’ Ted picked up his jacket.

‘Spot on, Ted,’ Wes smiled, grabbing a chunk of Katherine’s chocolate, ‘you’re so reliably…’ he placed it on his tongue and sucked for a moment, ‘ chilli, ’ he said.

Ted frowned, struggling to assimilate this compliment as he followed him out.

Oh yes he was in alright, but he’d left the lights off as a precaution; a safeguard –

All the better to…

Shut-up

Preferred the calm of the dark after the strain of work. There was nothing… nothing untoward in it. Nothing at all. It was simply a quirk. A preference.

Came home — in fact — slightly later than usual — No hard and fast rules in this line of business

— once the sun had set and the coy suggestion of rain (its soothing, fog-tinged sussurations) looked like turning into something more chilling –

No point…

Outdoor job, close to the Dutch Village; pulling down a turn-of-the-century summerhouse –

Criminal

— beautiful old thing — Hooligan

Doing what he could to salvage the best of the fine painted timber –

That gorgeous, old-fashioned lead-based grey-green colour Peeling off in voluptuous curls under the heavy pressure of a clumsy finger

— piled it into the back of his Mazda. Threw a heavy plastic sheet over, for the journey –

Cat sat under a Euphorbia bush

Just watching

Gold eye

Jumped out of its bones when the roof caved in

Belted towards the conservatory

After all that commotion (and during, even, basking beneath it)…

That high-pitched stillness of ocean-floor

Canvey

Quiet

Birds a-bed by three

No point in…

Shoved the wood into storage on the Charfleets at the workshop. Might make a –

Time allowing…

— Might make a fine, glass-fronted bookcase, like his Great Aunt Mathilda in Poole’d had, when he was a boy — full of fascinating books about mineralogy.

Arrived home at six, work and worry-weary. Anxiety still grinding away inside of him — not stationary, but moving — Back and forth, back and forth

— like a sharp-toothed saw, hacking and hewing.

Parked the car in the lock-up out the rear. Crept into the house the back way –

Nothing to apologise for

— took a quick shower. Was standing at that window twenty minutes later; scent of Brylcreem and Imperial Leather… Hmmn

Slow, to begin with.

Then the two old boys came; the one whose son had… but who still persisted (he was the first — sat down under the streetlight and messed about with his bootlaces). Next up, the ignorant one in the hat and the glasses clambering out of a white van –

Contravening just about every bloody…

The Police –

Double yellow

There’s justice for you

— and the girl — the boy-girl from earlier — walking in the gutter: hood up — forward — back. Light striking her face; like a small, sharp, well-peeled shallot –

Plain

Clean

Neat as…

Small terrier, dancing hyperactively — Despicable breed

Estate agent at Katherine’s front window –

Briefly

The Police making their way over, knocking…

Dewi held his breath.

Had a suspicion — more than a suspicion — that he was in there (should’ve got home earlier. Should’ve ripped that senseless agent limb-from-limb: Edward — Edward, damn him — he of all people should’ve known better).

Ted opened the door and ushered… ushered… Everybody but the one person who…

Dewi rubbed his hands across his face (hands still smelled of wood varnish, underneath). The rain came again, light as icing sugar tipped from a shaker.

He waited –

Waited

The white van suddenly left with a ferocious screeeeech.

He closed his eyes –

Barn Owl

Keening for its mate in the damp-blanket night

He opened his eyes again.

Now only the girl remained –

Little cocktail onion

Clean as a whistle

Pickled in sweet vinegar

And then –

No

— almost as if she suddenly –

No

— almost as if she instinctively –

No

She turned around and looked straight into him –

Blackness

Tiny pickling —

and spoke –

Little lamb

Bleating into steam

Bleating into nothing

It was then, and then only, that he finally knew Josephine.

These situations were the stuff of comedy, Katherine mused, if it wasn’t you, and they weren’t constantly happening, and you weren’t constantly pissed, and your bladder wasn’t exploding, and the doorbell wasn’t ringing and ringing and ringing — Stuck

Managed to drop her fag into her lap. Retrieved it with a yelp, but moved much too quickly, yanking the wire (if possible) even tighter around her throat –